


The Survivor and the Scavenger

by politicalmamaduck



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/F, Jedi Rey, Phasma is more traumatized than she lets on, Recovery, Survival, hints of Leia/Rey/Phasma, minor spoilers for the Phasma novel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-03 03:42:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12740322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/politicalmamaduck/pseuds/politicalmamaduck
Summary: Phasma has always been primarily concerned with her own survival, until the end of the war and a certain scavenger cause her to reconsider what survival means.





	The Survivor and the Scavenger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shiningstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiningstar/gifts).



> Written for shiningstar in the 2017 Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange!  
> Prompt: Phasma did not see this coming.

Phasma did not see it coming.

Her life had been a vicious struggle on an unyielding world, then power dynamics she sought to exploit to her own advantage. She had never been soft, nor had she desired anything soft from life. Caring, kindness, compassion--these were beyond the chrome armored Captain of the First Order. She had always done what she needed to do to survive.

Until Kylo Ren defected, plunging his red-hued lightsaber through the Supreme Leader’s chest with the help of the scavenger who had slashed his face open and kicked him flat on the ass scarcely two years before.

Phasma would never allow herself to suffer such an ignominious defeat, until she was forced to when the loss of the Supreme Leader decimated the morale of the First Order’s troops. She continued to take down Resistance troopers one by one, stalking ahead on the battlefield, refusing to surrender. Phasma’s blaster was running out of plasma; her armor was covered in blood and muck. She would die as she had lived: proudly, defiantly.

The scavenger girl--no, woman--materialized before her as if the Force allowed her to teleport herself across a battlefield. Perhaps it did, if she were truly as powerful as the rumors said.

The rumors didn’t say how beautiful she was. Lithe and above average height, though a head smaller than Phasma yet, her skin seemed to glow in the sunlight and with the sheen of exertion.

“Come with us, Phasma,” she said. “It doesn’t have to end like this. We could use a captain of your strengths.”

Perhaps it was the power of the Force behind the scavenger--no, Jedi’s words. Perhaps Phasma didn’t really want to die that day. Perhaps she was just taken by a beautiful girl with a smile that felt like it was melting her armor.

Phasma had always been a survivor; had always been one step ahead of her enemies. Perhaps her choice was simply to go on surviving.

Whatever it was, Phasma lowered her blaster and took Rey’s proffered hand.

 

* * *

 

The general was beautiful too, even after years of stressful living. Phasma had seen holos of Leia Organa in her youth, and she had truly been stunning. When Phasma was young and just joined the First Order, she had been taken by holos of older women. No one lived that long on Parnassos. Not that Phasma had ever, or would ever, admit anything about her homeworld.

No indeed, anyone who knew anything about Parnassos was long gone, thanks to Phasma. Her thoughts had never dwelled on her homeworld since its destruction at the hands of Brendol Hux.

She wondered if the scavenger felt much the same about Jakku. The woman had not left Phasma’s side since their arrival at the Resistance base.

She--Rey--had vouched for Phasma with General Organa. She had said nothing about how Phasma had massacred her fellows on the field. She said nothing of what FN-2187 had certainly told her about the training methods she had used.

No, Rey spoke only of a loyal soldier, who fought valiantly, and surrendered a losing cause. She spoke of Phasma with respect and determination.

Phasma could not say she would have done the same, had their positions been reversed.

 

* * *

 

Phasma had said nothing for the entirety of their hyperspace journey nor during the briefing. She did not react when the Resistance leaders decided to keep her under monitoring until she could be debriefed. Following that, they would decide whether to indict her or not based on the Galactic Concordance, since a new treaty with the First Order remnants had yet to be negotiated.

The Resistance officers did not let slip in Phasma’s presence if Grand Admiral Sloane survived, if General Hux had consolidated the power vacuum around him. No, the politicians were far too clever for that. If she were allowed into the general body of the troops, however, she had no doubt she could learn her colleagues’ fate. If she so cared.

She realized as she was walking down the hallway that her shoulders were drooping, her armor was still covered in blood and muck, and that she was cradling her blaster arm. She never would have appeared in the _Finalizer_ ’s hallways thusly. Yet the thought hadn’t even occurred to her until now.

Phasma pondered how quickly she had changed from her disciplined captain’s life until they arrived at a medbay. She stepped back in surprise, and Rey held out her arm to her once more.

“You’re hurt,” she said. “Let’s take care of that.”

Phasma continued to say nothing, but allowed the girl to lead her into the medbay, to sit and watch as she carefully removed her armor and set it down. Med droids hovered around her, ready to begin scanning her vitals, applying bacta patches and what looked to be a sedative.

“Trust me, Phasma,” Rey said, as the droid holding the syringe moved forward.

“Trust the Force that brought you here,” she said, as the droid jabbed the syringe into her upper arm.

Phasma went to sleep with images of the Jedi and the General dancing in her head. They were the two kindest faces she had ever seen. Since Parnassos. Since her own mother…

* * *

 

When Phasma awoke, the world seemed to spin around her. It took longer than she liked for her vision to come to, for the dizziness to abate. She noted bacta patches on her arms and her hip. Her armor was not on the floor where she had left it. She swung her legs over the side of the bed to get down, and a human doctor rushed over to her.

“Easy does it now,” she said, taking Phasma’s uninjured arm. “You were hurt much worse than you could tell through all that armor,” she continued.

“My armor,” Phasma interrupted. “Where is it?”

“In your new assigned quarters, I believe,” the doctor replied. “Rey made certain that it was returned to you.”

“Thank you, Doctor--” Phasma trailed off, realizing she did not know the woman who presumably saved her life’s name.

“I am Doctor Kalonia,” she said with a stern smile. “The one you should thank is Rey.”

Phasma nodded, and the doctor did not attempt to stop her from leaving again.

Outside of the medbay, a Resistance trooper awaited, holding proper clothes and shoes.

“If you wouldn’t mind changing into these, I’ll escort you to your new quarters,” he said.

She nodded at him, and stepped gently into the waiting area to change. The pants and sleeves were a little short, but overall they fit rather well, and were of good quality.

She said nothing when she returned to the trooper, and he led her through the hallways once more to a small room in an isolated area of the base.

Her armor was in fact inside, polished and gleaming.

“Thank you, Captain Phasma,” the trooper said. “This is your personal datapad. I’m afraid you are to remain in isolation until your debriefing. There will be guards posted at your door, and droids will come by with meals and replacement bacta patches. I hope this will be comfortable for you.”

She nodded, and the trooper closed the door, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

The Jedi returned to take her to the debriefing the day after the next.

“Was your room alright?” she asked. “I know it must have been very boring, in solitude. I’m sure they will let you use the training rooms once this is finished,” she continued.

Phasma turned her head to look down at her. “You used to live like that,” she said, the first words she had spoken since she left the medbay. She was beginning to like not having to speak. Her voice sounded completely different without her helmet.

It had been a long time since anyone had seen her without her helmet for such an extended period of time. And before that, her war mask, although no one still living knew about that.

Rey nodded. “Yes, on Jakku. Living around so many people took some getting used to.”

Phasma nodded back. “Thank you. For my armor,” she continued.

Rey smiled, softly, and Phasma couldn’t take her eyes away from her face. She felt as though her breath had been stolen from her, and that it was the second time in three days she had said thank you. In all her years in the First Order, she couldn’t remember saying it as many times.

 

* * *

 

She began to develop a routine, after her debriefing was over. She did what she knew she needed to do to survive: she told the Resistance everything she knew. She was honest. She had no more cards to play, no tricks up her sleeve. While Rey, General Organa, and Doctor Kalonia had been kind personally, she knew they served a greater goal. One with many angry people who would certainly want revenge.

But it seemed for now, they were content to keep her under house arrest on their base.

So she trained whenever she got the chance; sometimes she would even have an audience or a sparring partner. She sparred with Kylo Ren, now calling himself Ben Solo, as often as she could. Light side or dark side, she didn’t care; he was one of the most formidable fighters she had ever met.

More often than not, she found herself having dinner with Rey when they both returned from training.

Little by little, Phasma found her voice again.

She was not only surviving, for the first time in her life. She was thriving, laughing at the scavenger’s ridiculous stories and teasing her about how she was still so thin and smaller than herself.

It was after dinner one summer night, that Rey grabbed Phasma’s hand and pulled her outside to see the sunset.

“They’ve begun negotiating the peace treaty,” she said. “You’ll be allowed to leave the base once it’s been signed, as long as you swear and sign an oath that you’ll never take up arms against the Resistance, or the New Republic, I suppose, as long as you live.”

“That’s fine,” Phasma said. It was more than she had expected.

“What will you do?” Rey asked.

“I don’t know,” Phasma answered.

They sat in silence once more, their arms around each other and watched the sun set. Phasma leaned her head down to rest on Rey’s, and allowed herself a hope beyond just getting through each day for the first time in years.

 

* * *

 

Phasma swore she could taste the sun when she took the Jedi into her mouth for the first time. Force, she was beautiful naked; her skin was warm and fuzzy, and freckles dotted her shoulders as they did her cheeks.

She was deliciously wet, and the sounds she made as Phasma worked at her clit were nothing short of divine. Her grip in Phasma’s hair was strong, yet also soothing.

Phasma had never taken a lover before. There had been no one to interest her on Parnassos, and the First Order did not lend itself to such things. To have a beautiful Jedi in her bed, to taste her, had been something of which Phasma never even could have dreamed.

She added her fingers to the mix, and Rey began to beg beautifully.

“Oh Phasma, yes, please,” she moaned, and Phasma moved her fingers faster and sucked on her clit. Rey’s fingers in Phasma’s hair tightened as she climaxed, and her breathing began to even out. Her gaze was languid as she watched Phasma take all of her in, and her smile was soft and sweet.

“My turn,” Rey said, then hooked her leg around Phasma’s waist faster than she could have guessed and straddled her, kissing away the wetness from Phasma’s face.

They explored each other’s bodies for hours, kissing and stroking each and every inch. They shared stories about their scars, and discovered each other’s most sensitive spots. For Phasma, it was her neck, which Rey lovingly dotted with bite marks, back and front; for Rey it was her breasts, which fit perfectly into Phasma’s hands.

“What will you do when this is all said and done?” Rey asked her again, when night had nearly turned to morning.

“I will survive, as I always have,” Phasma said. “But I would like to continue surviving with a certain scavenger in my bed.”

Rey laughed, and kissed Phasma again.

Phasma realized that sometimes, silence meant more than words, and that she had finally earned her survival rather than merely fighting for it.

The next morning, Phasma asked General Organa if she might have permission to borrow both a ship and Rey once the peace treaty was signed.

The general smiled, and asked “And where are you taking them?”

Phasma smiled back.

“I’m not sure yet, General. Would you like to come? Surely you could use some time away from all of this.”

Leia laughed, and kissed Phasma on both cheeks.

Phasma didn’t see it coming.

**Author's Note:**

> A very huge thank you to my dear friend Jen/larirenshadow for betaing.  
> Comments and constructive feedback are always appreciated.


End file.
